


The Arrangement

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9795914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: He’s a mechanic. She’s a lonely woman with more money than she knows what to do with. Fate brings them together and sparks fly. But only for six weeks. That’s the arrangement.





	1. Chapter 1

 

**_Week One, Day One_ **

The pop song streaming from the overhead speakers was annoying enough to make his ears ache. He was going to kick the ass of whoever it was that had messed with his radio settings.

“What is this crap we are listening to?” Dean yelled from beneath the hood of his beloved car. 

When no one responded, he stood up, grabbed the towel that was resting on Baby, and halfheartedly attempted to wipe the grease from his fingers. He glanced around, but the garage was empty, of course.

Empty that was, except for the woman standing in the doorway. A woman he’d thought he’d never see again.

Dean reached over and flipped off the radio. “I hate that damn song,” he muttered before turning his attention back to her.

She looked nervous, standing there in a crisp, white dress and high heels, an expensive looking purse clutched in her hands. Her eyes darted around the garage, taking everything in. She was beautiful, ethereal really, her beauty nearly indescribable. He couldn’t believe she was actually standing in front of him after all these years. He took a deep breath before speaking. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, um...I don’t know if you remember me? Y/N Y/L/N?”

The name would have taken him by surprise if she hadn’t occupied his thoughts off and on since she’d climbed into her car and left him in her dust. It had been a few years since he’d been graced with her presence. He put a carefully neutral expression on his face. 

“I do remember you,,” he replied, attempting to give her a reassuring smile. “It’s been a very long time.” He walked toward her, his hand outstretched.

The woman flinched, her brow furrowing in what might only be described as disgust as she looked at his outstretched hand. She took a step back, squared her shoulders, her hand tightening on her bag. 

“It has been a long time,” she answered softly. She cleared her throat again. “I understand you are the best mechanic in Maine.”

Dean dropped his hand, ignoring the slight at her refusal to shake it. “I don’t know if I’m the best,” he shrugged. “But I’m pretty good. Can I help you with something?”

“You restore classic cars, right?” she asked.

“I do,” Dean replied, wondering what exactly she wanted. It certainly wasn’t everyday that someone like her wandered into his shop - the daughter of the richest man in town, which was saying a lot in Kennebunkport, summer home to two presidents. She hadn’t been seen much, not since her father had died almost a year earlier, in a boating accident. Since his death, she’d hardly been out of their giant mansion on the bluff.

“I have a car I’d like restored,” she said, staring at her feet. “It’s a 1965 Camaro. It was my father’s. Would you be able to restore a Chevrolet?”

Dean smirked, stepped to the side, and pointed behind him. “You remember my car? She’s a ‘67 Chevy Impala and I’ve rebuilt her from the ground up. Twice. Trust me, I can handle a Chevy.”

He didn’t like how skeptical she still looked, or the way she raised one eyebrow, as if she was questioning him. He sighed heavily, crossed the room, and grabbed a folder from a stack on the desk. He turned back to her, clutching it tightly in one hand. 

“Why don’t we go for a drive?” he said, pointing at Baby. 

“I don’t see what good that would do - “ Y/N shook her head.

He shoved the folder into her hand. “Get in the car. You can see how well she rides while you look through that.” He pulled open the door and gestured to her. She hesitated for just a second, enough to send a flash of irritation rippling along his spine, but then she steeled her shoulders and stepped gingerly across the floor, avoiding the inevitable oil and radiator spills scattered around the floor. She gave him a grim smile as she slid into the car and he closed the door behind her.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

Dean Winchester hadn’t been what you’d expected or remembered. You weren’t sure what exactly it was that you’d expected when you’d walked into Winchester Automotive, but it hadn’t been how intensely beautiful the green-eyed, intoxicating man standing in front of you was, that was for sure. If it was possible, he was even better looking than the last time you’d seen him. You had to force yourself to concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth, words spoken in his deep, thick voice, a voice that made you shiver, and sent an ache coursing through you. You remembered what it felt like to have that voice whispering in your ear, the way it would reverberate through every part of your body, how the words would catch in his throat when he -

You bit your tongue, flinching as you forced yourself back to reality. Now wasn’t the time to drift off into daydreams and memories, not when Dean was standing in front of you with his hand outstretched. Confused, you took a step back, squared your shoulders and tightened your grip on your bag. You needed to concentrate. You’d come here with a purpose in mind and you were determined to follow through with it.

Once you’d explained what you wanted - and most likely completely offended the only mechanic in Maine who could accomplish the task - you waited with bated breath for his answer. You were surprised when he asked you if you wanted to go for a drive, even more surprised when he opened the door of his beautiful black car and gestured for you to get in. You clutched the folder he’d handed you tighter and slid inside, releasing a breath you hadn’t known you were holding as soon as the door closed behind you. You let your hand drift over the soft leather, glanced into the back seat, a blush coloring your cheeks as you remembered the time you spent there.

You held your breath as Dean dropped into the car beside you and started the engine. She roared to life, her engine purring, rumbling beneath you. The sound brought tears to your eyes. You ignored them, flipped open the folder, gasping at the first picture of the classic car, one side of her completely destroyed, windshield broken, frame misshapen, tires blown, seats crushed. It was a massacre. 

You ran the tips of your fingers over the picture, unable to believe what you were seeing. You put your hand on the door, intent on getting out and examining her for yourself, until you realized the car was moving, gaining speed as Dean maneuvered her through town and onto the coastal highway, picking up speed quickly.

With a flick of his wrist, he turned up the radio, classic rock filling the car. You chanced a glance at him from the corner of your eye, marveling at the confidence he exuded as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his knee, his fingers tapping in time to the music. Some things never changed.

He hugged the curves as he drove effortlessly up the mountain, easing the huge car along, controlling her as if she was an extension of himself. It was enticingly erotic, watching him drive. The memory of what it had been like to slide across the seat, to press yourself against him, to touch him as he drove hit you out of nowhere. You had to close your eyes and bite your lip for a moment; you did not need those thoughts clouding your head. It wouldn’t end well.

You opened your eyes as you felt the car slowing. Dean eased her off the road, parking in the overlook just five miles from your home. Had he brought you here intentionally or was it merely a coincidence? You turned away, watching Dean rather than the spot where you had -

He interrupted your thoughts. “Alright, Ms. Y/L/N, what is it you need me to do?”

* * *

Dean shook his head. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. Or maybe he was being punked. Y/N had just offered him more money than he thought he’d see in a lifetime to restore her father’s Camaro. It was enough to help Sam with school, take care of some much needed upgrades at the shop, and set up a comfortable nest egg for himself. 

“You’ll really pay me that much? Just to restore your dad’s old car?” He watched her carefully, trying to see if she was jerking his chain. “What’s the catch?”

“I’m only giving you six weeks, from today,” she replied. “And all of the work has to be done in the garage on my property. I won’t allow the car to be removed.”

“I don’t know,” Dean shook his head. It would be so much easier if he could work in his own garage.

“You don’t have to worry about having the proper equipment,” she assured him. “Trust me when I say my garage is fully stocked, with whatever you could need. And if it’s not there, I will get it. But the car doesn’t leave the property. Period.”

Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead. He’d be stupid to pass this up. Stupid. Bobby could take care of the shop during the day, and he’d be available if an emergency came up. He could work weekends, evenings, whatever it took to get the job done. He squeezed Baby’s steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, the hard leather creaking softly. He was really going to do this. 

He opened his mouth to answer Y/N, already nodding his agreement, but she wasn’t looking at him, she was staring out the window over the water, a tear running down her cheek. The urge to wipe it away came over him, but he pushed it away, shoved it down deep. He barely knew her, not anymore anyway. Those days were over. She’d changed and according to the rumors he’d heard, she’d become cold, standoffish, aloof, no longer the carefree, beautiful creature he’d romanced so many summers ago.

A few seconds later, she brushed a hand over her face and turned to face him. Without thinking, he reached over and put his hand on hers, squeezing gently. She gave him a tentative smile, turning her hand to intertwine her fingers with his. It was cold. He held it tightly, staring into her eyes. His heart was trying to pound out of his chest, something it hadn’t done since the last time he’d lost himself in her, this woman who had used him, breaking his heart. How was it that she still had a hold on him?

Abruptly, she pulled away, turning to look out the window, pressing herself against the passenger door. She fidgeted in her seat, her fingers tapping on the folder in her lap. 

“So, will you take the job?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. He waited, wondering if she would say anything else and when she didn’t, he started Baby and pulled out of the overlook, so fast the tires spun, spraying dirt behind them. 

Neither of them seemed able to look at the other as Dean drove them back into town. He had a bad feeling about this, a nervous twist in his gut that he didn’t like. He kept reminding himself it was only six weeks, just forty-two days. 

Six weeks. Forty-two days. 

He could do this.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**_Week One, Day One_ **

“She broke your heart,” Sam grumbled. “Why would you put yourself through that again?”

“First of all, she didn’t break my heart, Sam,” Dean sighed, balling up the paper that had been wrapped around his burger and tossing it toward the trash can. “Second, she didn’t hire me to date her, she hired me to restore her father’s car. And third, we need the money. I’m taking the job. I’ll be fine.”

Sam gave him a knowing look. Dean wasn’t fooling him - he couldn’t, he knew him too well. If anyone knew how much he’d cared for Y/N, it was Sam.

But, Sam let it go; he didn’t want to push or browbeat his big brother. Besides, what was he going to say? He knew they needed the money, it would go a long way toward helping them with the mounting piles of bills. Law school wasn’t cheap and Dean insisted he go, follow his dreams, make something of himself, get himself an apple pie life. But it was tough, had been since Dean was eighteen and he was fourteen, when they’d lost both of their parents. Money like this didn’t come around everyday, and Sam knew they didn’t really have a choice. His brother would get up, go to work in the morning and every other morning for the next forty-one days, he’d fix up that damn car until it was perfect, then hopefully he’d walk away and not look back.

Just like Y/N had done to him.

* * *

**_Week One, Day Four_ **

Six-thirty a.m. Another early start. He’d spent most of the last two days crawling all over the Camaro, trying to determine how exactly he wanted to approach the repairs. The car had obviously been in an accident, not as bad as the two that Baby had suffered through, but bad enough. Today was the day he was going to start taking her apart, piece by piece. He pulled to a stop in the center of the garage, put the Impala in park, and rubbed a hand over his face. He wished he’d stopped to grab some coffee; he’d been here until after ten last night, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep even after he was home, his brain in overdrive. But he’d still managed to crawl out of bed at five forty-five this morning, eat a bowl of cereal standing at the sink, and get on the road just a few minutes after six. 

Dean pushed open Baby’s car door, and crawled out, the slam of the Impala’s door echoing in the cavernous garage. He shook his head as he walked the length of the garage to the desk in the corner. It drove him crazy that this place sat here overlooking the town, nearly empty, nothing but a black SUV and a busted ass Camaro inside. It easily could have held twenty or thirty cars, and may have at one time. But now it was nothing but a waste of space, a colossal waste, one that set his teeth on edge. He’d give his left arm for a place like this for his shop. He sighed heavily and tried to push the irritation away as he dropped his keys on the desk, along with his jacket, and pulled a clean pair of coveralls off of the shelf. Y/N hadn’t been lying when she’d said he would have everything he needed at his disposal. 

He heard a door open and close in the back of the garage, the clock on the wall indicating the time as seven a.m. He’d heard the door at the same time the last two days. A few minutes later, Y/N appeared, two cups of coffee in her hands. She stopped in front of him and held one out.

“One sugar, no cream, right?” she said quietly.

He nodded, eyeing her warily, though he took the coffee from her and sipped it carefully. It was perfect, just the way he liked it. It surprised him that she’d remembered something so insignificant. He watched her over the rim of the cup, watched the way she walked across the room, coming to a stop in front of the Camaro. She reached out to touch it, but pulled her hand back at the last second, as if she’d been scalded, tucking it into the back pocket on her jeans. She turned back to Dean.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

Same question she’d asked him yesterday. Dean yanked a yellow legal pad from beneath his jacket on the desk and held it out to her. “I need the stuff on this list,” he said.

She took it from him and flipped through the pages. “There’s a lot of stuff on here,” she mumbled.

“You want the car fixed, right?” he said. “I believe the words you used yesterday on one of your many visits were pristine condition.”

“Of course I want it fixed,” she sighed. “I just didn’t expect -”

“And that’s only the beginning,” Dean cut her off. “I’m sure I’ll be adding more as I go along. I know what I’m doing, Y/N.” He grabbed a pair of work gloves from the shelf next to the overalls, and a socket wrench from the toolbox. He could feel Y/N’s eyes on him as he stalked past her toward the Camaro. He didn’t understand why she kept coming in here everyday. It was obvious she was uncomfortable around the car and around him. It never took her more than a few minutes to piss him off and vice versa. Same shit, different day.

A few seconds later, Dean heard the door at the back of the garage open and slam closed.

* * *

You maintained a steady pace until you hit the stairs at the end of the hallway, then you broke into a run, sprinting up the stairs and across the skywalk connecting the garage to the house. You burst through the door into the gym, raced past the empty machines, down another long hallway, and into the bedroom you’d had since you were ten years old.

“God damn it!” you yelled, picking up one of the overstuffed pillows sitting on the chair and throwing it as hard as you could. It landed a mere three feet from where you stood, making you feel even more like the idiot you most certainly were.

Jesus, that man made you feel...Christ, so many things. Every emotion imaginable seemed to bubble to the surface when he was involved. It had always been like that, from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him so many summers ago. Nobody made you as angry as Dean Winchester; nobody irritated you more than Dean Winchester; nobody made your body ache with need like Dean Winchester. Nobody had ever loved you like Dean Winchester.

The bastard.

* * *

**_Week One, Day Five_ **

You hadn’t intended to end up down in the garage, not after yesterday. Every time you went down there, you ended up arguing and fighting with Dean. You didn’t want to fight with him, but the two of you mixed like oil and water, and it seemed to always end in a fight and a look on Dean’s face that cut through you like a knife. 

But somehow, you’d wandered down the hall, through the gym, down the stairs, and into the garage, slipping inside close to midnight. You’d had several drinks - four or five, maybe more, you’d lost count - and you’d been drawn to it. You cracked the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, even though you were sure Dean had left, before stumbling inside and weaving none too gracefully across the huge space. You came to a halt in front of a what was basically a pile of rubbish.

“What the fuck?” you mumbled, horrified at the sight before you.

The car was destroyed - the frame was there, slightly bent and misshapen, but the doors, fenders, bumpers, the hood, the trunk, all of it, were scattered around the garage. The seats had been removed and were lying beneath plastic tarps in the corner. It didn’t even look like a car anymore.

You slid to the floor, your legs literally giving out beneath you, your ass hitting the ground hard enough to make your teeth rattle. You felt the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. You stared at the ruins of your father’s car.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you whispered, your hands fisted in your lap, rocking back and forth, desperately trying to comfort yourself. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You lost yourself in your tears, the memories of the night of the accident overshadowing everything. You put your head in your hands and let the sobs come. You deserved the pain those memories brought.

You had no idea how long you’d been sitting on the floor, bawling your eyes out, when Dean’s gruff voice broke through your self-pitying cries. Startled, you reared back, the top of your head connecting with his chin. He cursed, his hand closing around your upper arm as he fell backwards.

“Fuck,” you squeaked as the two of you fell to the floor.

Dean scrambled to his feet, hauling you up with him. His familiar scent filled your nostrils - leather, grease and oil, and something that was all Dean. He released you and took a step back, but the combination of whiskey and tears had messed with your head, and apparently your equilibrium, because you stumbled, falling against him. 

“Whoa, Y/N,” he muttered, pulling you closer, keeping you on your feet, barely. “Why don’t we get you in the house?”

“I don’t wanna…” you sighed. You could hear the slur to your words as you spoke and you couldn’t hold back the giggle at the way your tongue wouldn’t quite do what you wanted. You pressed yourself against Dean, your arms sliding around his waist, your head coming to rest on his chest. His hand was warm on your hip as you leaned into him, the heat seeping through your thin pajama pants. His body was rock hard beneath the coveralls he was still wearing and there was a smudge of grease on his lower jaw.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the feelings you still harbored for the small town mechanic, or maybe it was the need for a respite from the grief that seemed to constantly fill your heart, but you found yourself pushing up and into Dean, rising up on your toes, your tongue dancing across his lower lip. Dean exhaled, a soft sigh, his hand squeezing your hip. His lips parted and then you were kissing him. It was better than you remembered, warm and perfect and a little bit insane. 

Dean’s hands came up and cupped your face, hauling you closer. You moaned, the sound swallowed by the man feverishly kissing you. You fisted your hands in the front of his coveralls, holding yourself close to him. He groaned, his arousal growing hard against your stomach, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss.

“Dean,” you gasped, twisting one leg around his, tugging at the zipper of his coveralls. You pulled it halfway down, your fingers drifting over his thin gray t-shirt, the muscles of his chest jumping under your hand. Your heart raced as you touched him. 

How could you have forgotten how amazing he was, how perfect, how beautiful? How could you have forgotten how alive Dean made you feel?

Then he was gone, pushing himself away from you, stumbling backwards several steps. He pressed the back of his hand to his lips, a grimace marring his perfect features. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he growled. “What the fuck was that?”

Shock reverberated through you as his words registered in your head. What the hell were you doing?

“I-I, I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I was drinking -”

“So, you’re drunk,” Dean spat. “Figures.” He ripped the coveralls from his body, violently kicking at them when they tangled in his feet. “Some things never change.” He scooped up his keys and jacket from the desk and stalked out the door, leaving you standing in the middle of the garage amidst the disassembled Camaro.

* * *

Dean had to pull off the road a mile from the mansion, two of Baby’s tires resting in the dirt of the shoulder. He took a deep breath, but he couldn’t calm his racing heart, couldn’t stop his ragged breathing, his frustration eating at him until he let loose with a primal scream and slammed his fist into the Impala’s dashboard, two, three, four times, not stopping until his knuckles were bloody and aching.

He fell back against the seat, his hands falling to his lap. He stared at his bloodied knuckles, anger still rolling through him. He couldn’t believe he’d let her get under his skin. Again. Obviously, he wasn't over her, not by a long shot. When she'd kissed him, it had been like they’d never been apart. He’d wanted to devour her, wanted to peel her clothes from her body, wanted to feel her soft curves writhing beneath him. God, he’d wanted it bad. Then the memory of her last words to him had echoed through his head, jarring him like a hard slap to the face. He’d broken off the kiss, furious with not only her, but himself as well for letting her get the best of him.

Maybe Sam was right, maybe he couldn’t do this. Maybe he wasn’t going to be fine. He’d thought he was in love with Y/N all those years ago, she’d been the first woman he’d ever given a shit about, and she’d destroyed him. How did he think he’d be okay working for her? The words she’d thrown at him when she’d dumped him were becoming a reality. And it fucking hurt.

He scrubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath. It might hurt, but he had no choice but to push through it. They needed the money too much, even more than he’d led Sam to believe. Things were bad, really bad, and if he didn’t keep this job, things were going to get a whole hell of a lot worse.  

“I can do this,” he muttered to himself. “I  _ have _  to do this. I have to.”

Dean put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road, recklessly gaining speed as he raced down the mountain toward town, music loud, engine revving. 

Thirty-seven more days. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_Week One, Day Six_ **

He slept in until after seven, took his time eating breakfast with Sam, then stopped by shop to make sure things were running smoothly without him. Bobby seemed to have everything under control, which made him equal parts happy and frustrated. If things had been going to shit, he would have had an excuse to quit working for Y/N. But Bobby was good, really good, which meant Dean had nothing to worry about. Unfortunately.

It was nearly eleven when he finally started up the road toward the mansion. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. He just hoped he wouldn’t see Y/N; he didn’t have a clue what he would say to her, if anything. He wasn’t even sure that kiss had meant anything. She had been drinking and crying - sobbing really - not in her right mind. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it couldn’t have meant anything. Shit, he’d be surprised if she even remembered kissing him. After all, as far as she was concerned, he was expendable, forgettable, not worth her time. 

Funny how things changed. 

* * *

 

**_Five Years Ago_ **

She was moaning his name, her fingers wrapped around the back of his head, one leg thrown over his shoulder, her body so soft, so supple, so perfect. He braced his foot against the door, pushing himself closer to her, her taste flooding his mouth as his tongue slid through her slick folds. Her hips bucked, a loud gasp falling from her lips, her muscles tensing, tightening, her body shuddering beneath him as she came.

Dean slid his open mouth across her naked stomach, along the underside of her breast, his tongue flicking out to tease at her nipple, leaving a wet trail on her soft skin, a trail that glistened in the moonlight streaming through the Impala’s back window. He blew a warm breath over the damp spot, then slowly drew the hardened nub into his mouth, sucking greedily. Y/N’s back arched and her fingers dug into his shoulders, her legs sliding around his waist, pulling him closer. He eased into her, taking his time, enjoying the sounds of her arousal, her whispered pleas for him to take her, to fuck her, to make her feel alive. 

He moved slow and easy, wanting it to last, wanting to feel the connection deep in his bones, for as long as he could. He groaned as his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue dancing across her lips, her body moving in perfect synchronicity with his. He could get used to this, shit, he  _ had _  gotten used to it. Y/N had become everything he wanted, everything he needed.

He’d fallen and fallen hard.

* * *

**_Week One, Day Six_ **

You heard the Impala before you saw it, heard it from where you were standing, staring out the window wall overlooking the bluff, the spot where you’d been for the last four hours, waiting for him. After an hour, you’d begun to think that maybe he wasn’t coming, that you’d chased him away, thrown away not only the chance to get your father’s car fixed, but to prove to Dean that you weren’t that shitty person who’d torn out his heart five years ago. After two hours, you’d taken to holding your phone in your hands, waiting for the inevitable call ending your business arrangement. After three, you’d started pacing in front of the floor to ceiling windows, running your hands through your hair, mumbling to yourself. When you finally heard it, that familiar purring roar, you’d wanted to run through the house and into the garage so you could apologize, beg his forgiveness, not just for the kiss gone wrong, but for everything. Everything.

But you didn’t. You watched him as he parked in front of the garage entrance and left the car running, opening the side door and stepping inside. A few seconds later, the huge door slowly opened and Dean strolled out. He drove the black beauty inside. The door closed, sealing him in. 

You rested your forehead against the window, sighing in relief. He was here, working on the car. When you’d hired him, that was all that mattered - getting the car fixed. But something had changed when the two of you had kissed. Drunken kiss or not, it had brought to the surface all of those feelings you’d always had for Dean, reminding you that you had loved him, that you still loved him. You had pushed all of those feelings deep inside of you, refusing to acknowledge them, pretending they weren’t there. You’d gotten very good at it over the last five years. You should have known bringing him back into your life would bring it back. You thought you could handle it. You were wrong.

You’d give him a couple of days, leave him be, let him work. You’d already come close to messing things up, you didn’t want to chance scaring him away for good. You needed him.

* * *

**_Week Two, Day Two_ **

Dean hadn’t seen or spoken to Y/N for three days. Her assistant, some long, lean, gangly guy named Garth had come down a couple of times, sat in the makeshift office at the desk and ordered the parts on his list, quick and efficient. He’d given Dean his cell phone number, told him if he needed any additional assistance to give him a call, then he’d promptly disappeared out the back door of the garage.

He hadn’t arrived this morning until after nine - Bobby was out sick, so he’d had to stop by the shop, drop Sam off to cover the oil and tire change appointments, rearrange a few of the more complicated jobs, and make a run to the bank. When he’d finally pulled into the garage, the black SUV was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he wouldn’t have to spend the morning wondering when and if Y/N was going to pop up and they’d finally have to have an awkward conversation about what had happened on Saturday. Maybe if they avoided it long enough it would become one of those things you just didn’t talk about. He could live with that.

It was after one when he heard the door at the back of the garage slam closed. He stayed where he was, sprawled on the floor beneath the Camaro, working on straightening the frame. He glanced back, expecting to see Garth, but instead it was Y/N, marching toward him, two brown bags clutched in her hand. The smell of burgers wafted through the air, making his stomach rumble. He pushed himself out from beneath the car and sat up, watching her. He didn’t like the way his breath caught in his throat as she walked toward him, or how his heart seemed to be trying to pound its way out of his chest. It pissed him off that she still had that kind of impact on him, after all that she’d said and done. He pushed himself to his feet.

“I brought a peace offering,” she said, holding out the bag. “You still like the burgers from Harvelle’s, right?”

“Who doesn’t?” he shrugged, a ghost of a smile playing over his lips.

“Great,” she grinned. “I got some fries, too. I hope you still like your burger loaded, because that’s how I got it.” She crossed the garage, pushed the stuff on the desk out of her way, and began pulling the food from the bags. 

Dean walked past her, stepping into the spacious bathroom just off the garage, and cleaned himself up. He peeled off the dirty coveralls and tossed them on the edge of the huge bathtub. When he emerged, he saw that Y/N had pulled another chair up to the desk and spread the food out across it, along with a can of that red cream soda she was so fond of and one can of Coke. Another thing she’d remembered about him. He took a deep breath before taking a seat beside her.

He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he sat down in front of the food. They ate in silence for a while, a comfortable silence, which surprised him, considering everything that lay unspoken between them. It didn’t last.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.

“Talk about what?” he mumbled. “Saturday night? Or that night five years ago when you dumped me?”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw the flash of pain in her eyes, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook that easy. She’d hurt him and he wanted to give it back. But at the same time, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she didn’t hurt anymore.

“You don’t understand,” she sighed. “I didn’t have a choice -”

“There’s always a choice, Y/N,” he bit out, dropping his last fry to the table. “You chose to rip my fucking heart out and stomp on it.”

* * *

**_Five Years Ago_ **

He followed her to the edge of the bluff, his hand in hers, right up against the guardrail. He’d come to think of this place as theirs. He’d kissed her for the first time in this spot, they’d had sex in the back of his car for the first time in this spot (and countless times since), he was planning on telling her how he felt about her in this spot.

The wind was blowing, whipping her hair around her face. He reached out and pushed a loose tendril behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

“It’s over, Dean,” she blurted. 

“What?” Dean mumbled, wondering if he’d heard her correctly, his hand dropping to his side. 

“I said it’s over, Dean,” she sighed, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the dirt, refusing to look at him, refusing to meet his hard stare. “You and me. We’re done.” 

“Just like that?” he muttered. “After all that shit you spouted the other day about not caring what your father said or thought, all of that stuff about it being me and you against the world. After all of that, you’re breaking up with me? What did your father do?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with my father,” she snapped. “Not a goddamn fucking thing. The decision to end things with you is mine and mine alone. Because I finally realized that you’re not good enough for me. You’ll never be anything more than some guy who works on my car. If you believed there could ever be more to us than a couple of people fucking for fun, well, then you’re more of a fool than I thought you were.” She spun on her heel and dropped into the front seat of her cherry red Mustang. The engine roared to life, the wheels spinning in the dirt as she accelerated, dirt and rocks flying through the air, peppering his face and chest. She didn’t look back as she pulled onto the road, leaving him behind.

* * *

**_Week Two, Day Two_ **

“There’s always a choice, Y/N. You chose to rip my fucking heart out and stomp on it.”

You could hear the pain and the anger in Dean’s voice, see the hurt you’d caused him reflected in his eyes. How could he understand why you’d done it, why you’d broken up with him? You barely understood it yourself. The girl who had done that was long gone, dead, like so much of your past. You were a different woman now. A different woman who was still in love with Dean Winchester.

You’d never stopped loving him.

He shook his head and pushed his chair back, hitting the wall. “You haven’t changed. You still can’t face what you’ve done.”

You grabbed his hand, stopping him. “That’s not true. I have changed.” You took a deep breath. “I know I hurt you, Dean. I know that.”

He stared down at you, those piercing green eyes looking right into your soul. He sighed heavily and sat back down, his forearms resting on his legs, his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Why?” he whispered.

“My father,” you mumbled, “he...he threatened to cut me off. Stop paying for school, take away my car, my credit cards, all of it. It was you or his money.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “And you agreed?”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, nodding. “I’m so sorry -”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” he demanded. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand? Did you think I only cared about the money? That never mattered to me!”

You leapt from the chair, unable to sit still any longer. You paced back and forth in front of him, opening and closing your fists as you spoke, nervous energy rocketing through you.

“You don’t understand. I was backed into a corner, or at least, I thought I was. Daddy controlled everything. My entire life. I had to end it, and when I did, I had to make sure you never wanted to see me again. I needed you to hate me. To loathe me. Because if you didn’t hate me, then I never would been able to move on. I loved you, Dean, loved you like I’ve never loved anyone. But I was young, stupid, spoiled. I’d spent my entire life as a rich little girl, my every whim fulfilled. When Daddy threatened to cut me off, to take it all away, I panicked. I couldn’t imagine living my life any differently. So I did it. And I have regretted that choice every minute of every day for last five years.”

“What?” Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes boring into yours, gauging your every move, your every thought. You could practically feel it in your bones.

“I wanted to apologize, to make it up to you,” you murmured. “I wanted to tell you that I -” You closed your mouth, suddenly very aware of what you’d almost said.

“You wanted to tell me what, Y/N?” His voice was harsh, too harsh. He rose to his feet, closing the distance between the two of you in a matter of seconds.

You took a step back, not sure if you should say anything else, or if you should just walk away and let it go. You’d apologized, said what you’d wanted to say. There was no need to add more heartache to what you’d both already suffered. 

“Y/N, what do you want to tell me?” Dean moved another step closer.

“I never stopped loving you.” The words were out before you could stop them, before you could think about stopping them. You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified. You’d never meant to tell him. Never.

Dean froze, staring at you, his mouth open. He closed it slowly and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I gotta get back to work,” he said. “Thanks for lunch.” He grabbed a pair of coveralls from the shelf and without a glance back, he disappeared into the huge garage.

“You’re welcome,” you whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_Week Two, Day Two_ **

Work. It was his only solace, his only escape. It had always been like that. When his parents had died, he’d worked at the shop for days on end, barely sleeping or eating, a desperate need to keep it running for his dad fueling him. He hadn’t stopped until Bobby had dragged him away, forcing him to stop. And when Y/N had dumped him out of the blue, he’d done the same, working until he’d dropped. It kept him sane. Or so he thought. 

As soon as Y/N had said those words, the words that messed with his head, the words that tried to throw him into a tailspin, he’d shut down. He couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t process it. He’d shifted into neutral, letting his brain lead him, keeping his heart on lockdown. He’d risen to his feet and gone to do what he’d been hired to do, fix the Camaro. He threw himself into it with an abandon, putting all of his focus on what he needed to do to get the car road ready in less than five weeks.

He didn’t hear her leave the garage, he didn’t hear his phone ringing multiple times over the next several hours, he didn’t even see Garth leave an envelope on the front seat of the Impala. All he heard was the classic rock blasting from the overhead speakers and his own voice in his head telling him to “let it go, let it go, let it go.” He wasn’t going to think about it, dwell on it, or let it consume him. It was his past, he wanted to leave it there.

Dean pulled into the driveway of the small house he shared with Sam just before midnight. He was relieved to see that all of the lights were off, which meant he wouldn’t have to talk to his brother. He wasn’t quite ready for that. 

The envelope sat on the seat beside him, unopened. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. His name was scrawled in red pen across the front in Y/N’s familiar handwriting. With a deep sigh, he opened it.

It was a check. Written on the memo line were the words “Week One.”

Back to business.

* * *

**_Week Two, Day Three_ **

He was tired, bone weary, ready to call it a night, when his phone lit up. He figured it was Sam, wondering where he was, why he wasn’t home yet. Two late nights in a row was out of character for him, no matter how bad he wanted to get the Camaro done. He dug his phone out of his pocket, surprised to see it wasn’t his brother, but a text from Y/N.

_ Can we talk? Please? _

Dean sighed. He’d known this was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. He knew they needed to talk, though a part of him had hoped they could sweep this under the rug, and pretend it had never happened. No such luck. He typed out an answer on his phone.

_ Now? _

_ Yes. _

_ Okay. I’ll wait in the garage for you. _

He stripped off his coveralls, tossed them in the small hamper by the desk, and washed his hands in the sink in the corner. He leaned against the Impala and waited.

* * *

You hurried through the house toward the garage, practically running down the back stairs, anxious to get to Dean before he changed his mind and left.

He gave you a wary smile as you came in, watching you as you crossed the expanse of the garage and sat on the edge of the desk.

“Hi,” you murmured.

“Hi,” he replied. He waited two beats. “You wanted to talk?”

You nodded and ran a hand through you hair. “I wanted to apologize. Again. I know you don’t want to -”

“Do you really still love me?” Dean interrupted.

Your mouth snapped shut. You swallowed nervously, exhaling through your nose. You couldn’t look at him; those green eyes seemed to bore into you, deep into your soul. It had always been like that. He had a knack for getting whatever he wanted out of you with just a look.

“Dean,” you sighed.

“Do you love me?” He emphasized every word, his hands clenched in fists at his side.

You nodded, gnawing at your lip, a single tear sliding down your cheek. You brushed it away with the back of your hand.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He took two steps closer. He was so close you could smell oil and the faint scent of his aftershave, you could see the tick in his jaw and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He leaned over you.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asked.

You swallowed around the lump rising in your throat. “I want you,” you shrugged. “I want us to try again, you and me. I’m not asking for forever, even though I’m still in love with you. I do want the happily ever after, but I get it if you don’t. I know I screwed up, believe me, I know. I can’t change how I feel. And I get it if you don’t want the same thing. But I had to tell you.” 

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Y/N,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I can’t -”

“It’s okay.” You tried to smile, but it felt weird, unnatural. It was the answer you’d expected. “I just had to say my piece.” You pushed yourself off the desk to stand in front of him, rose up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then turned and ran out of the garage.

* * *

**_Week Two, Day Four_ **

You’d barely made it out of the garage before the tears came, streaming down your face. You’d raced through the house, finally coming to a stop in the huge living room in front of the wall of windows overlooking the bluff. You paced back and forth in front of the glass, screaming at yourself for every stupid mistake you’d ever made when it came to Dean. The feelings of inadequacy and desperation had only gotten worse when you’d heard the Impala tearing off down the long drive and seen the black car fishtailing as it rounded the corner. That was when the tears had seemed to explode out of you, so hard and so fast that you found yourself bent over double with your arms wrapped around yourself, sobs wracking your body. It took forever to pull yourself together, and once you did, you hadn’t been able to do anything more than wrap a blanket around yourself and collapse onto the overstuffed sofa. Even though it was nearly one a.m., you’d been sure that sleep would elude you, but to your surprise, you’d dozed off rather quickly, your tears still drying on your cheeks.

The pounding in your head woke you up, monotonous and constant. You struggled to sit up, your neck stiff, the limbs on the left side of your body asleep. Once you were upright, you dropped your head into your hands, trying to breath through the pain. The pounding was incessant -

Except it wasn’t your head that was pounding, it was someone’s fist hitting the front door. You shoved the blanket off and scrambled to your feet. You hurried down the massive staircase and across the huge marble floor of the foyer to the large cherry wood double doors. You threw the lock without even looking through the peephole, your brain still befuddled and off-kilter from earlier. From a brief second, you thought you might be hallucinating when you saw who was standing on the other side.

Dean.

“Did you mean it?” he blurted the second the door swung open.

“Wh-what?” you stammered, falling back a step.

“Did you mean it? When you said you wanted to try again?” he asked again. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes, of course I did,” you replied.

He stepped inside, forcing you back a few more steps. “Thirty-two days, Y/N. I’ll give you thirty-two days, starting now. Once it’s over, once I’m done with the car, one or both of us can walk away. Or not. But that’s all I can promise, that’s all I can give you right now.”

You were nodding before the words were out of his mouth. You’d take what you could get and worry about the rest later. You had plenty of time to convince Dean you still loved him, to convince him that the two of you should be together. 

Dean’s arms slid around your waist and he pulled you close, his forehead pressed to yours. “Is that a yes?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Anything else you might have said was cut off by Dean’s mouth on yours, his tongue dancing over your lips. His body was melded to yours, close enough that you could feel his heart practically pounding out of his chest, feel the heat coursing through him. But it wasn’t close enough, it would never be close enough.

* * *

He’d lost his mind. It was the only explanation he had for what he’d just done, for the arrangement he’d just made. Thirty-two days. Four weeks and four days.

Dean shook his head, chastising himself for the crazy decision he’d made. Sam was going to kill him when he found out. But Y/N was his addiction and he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t walk away when there was any chance that what he felt, what she felt, might be real. He’d wanted this every day for the last five years, he was going to enjoy every second of it and pray that when day thirty-two came around, he would believe she did love him.

He pulled into the driveway for the second time that night and cut the engine. He missed her already - missed her touch, missed the feel of her in his arms, missed the scent of her hair in his nose, the sound her voice, everything. He couldn’t wait to get back to her.

The light in the kitchen came on and Sam’s head appeared in the window over the sink. Dean checked his watch. Time to explain to his baby brother why he’d been with a woman he supposedly hated at three in the morning. This would be fun.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**_Week Two, Day Four, Thirty-two Days Left_ **

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Sam growled, running a hand through his sleep tousled hair. “You do remember what happened last time, right? How bad it got?”

“Sam-” Dean muttered. He’d known his brother wasn’t going to be happy that he was giving things with Y/N another shot, but he’d never imagined he’d be this pissed. 

“Don't,” his brother snapped. “Don’t ‘Sam’ me. You know what I remember happening after Y/N dumped your ass out of nowhere? I remember that you were a goddamn zombie, working until you nearly dropped, drinking enough to rot your liver, and an asshole to everyone around you. It was almost worse than after Mom and Dad -”

Dean shot a look at his younger brother that had him snapping his mouth shut. Sam took a deep breath before he continued. “That...that woman fucked with your head, Dean. She used you as a fuck toy for a summer, then she threw you away like you were trash. I don’t want her to do it -.”

“I know what I’m doing, Sam,” Dean interjected. “I’ve got it under control.”

Sam glared at him for nearly a minute before shoving himself to his feet. He pulled himself to his full 6’4” height, knowing he towered over Dean. “Alright, fine,” he bit out. “But don’t come crying to me when she hurts you again.” He stalked off down the hallway, his back stiff, his hands fisted at his side. The slam of his bedroom door sounded like a gunshot going off.

Dean shook his head and poured himself another shot. That had gone exactly like he’d suspected. Not well. He wanted to follow his brother, argue with him, tell him that he was wrong, make him listen to reason. But he also didn’t want to think about it anymore tonight. He was tired and he just wanted to sleep. He’d worry about everything tomorrow. Well, later today. He swallowed the last of his drink and stretched out on the couch. Screw consciousness.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when you woke up, much later than you’d intended to sleep. But it had been a late night, and apparently your body and psyche had different ideas. By the time you got cleaned up and downstairs, it was late in the afternoon. You wanted to go to the garage, see Dean, pick up where you’d left off last night, except the two of you had laid out a few ground rules last night, one of them being that during the day, it would be work as usual. And deep in the pit of your stomach, you were terrified. The people you loved always seemed to get hurt. You didn’t want to hurt Dean, not again. But you couldn’t help worrying that it was exactly what you were going to do.

That didn’t stop the need you felt to see him again, an almost desperate need. Now that he was back in your life, if only for the next thirty-two days, you didn’t want to waste a second.

So, you decided to ignore the rules that the two of you had laid out the night before and made your way through the house, down the back stairs, and to the garage. You hesitated at the door, watching Dean work. Baby was pulled up right next to the Camaro, her hood up, doors open. The Camaro looked a little bit more like a car, her frame straightened and painted, her fenders and trunk back in place. You could see Dean bent over the engine, some tool in his hand. He hadn’t put on his coveralls, so you could see grease streaking his gray shirt and his arms, even his jeans. He had a cup of what you assumed was coffee in one hand and a red rag in the other. 

He must have felt your eyes on him, because he looked up, and to your surprise, he smiled. So far, so good. Encouraged, you hurried across the garage, stepping into his waiting arms, letting him pull you against his side. His lips brushed across yours, sending a shiver down your spine. God, it felt good to be back in his arms.

“Hi there,” he whispered. “What are you doing down here?”

“I know I’m breaking the rules we talked about last night,” you smiled. “But I couldn’t wait to see you. Sorry.”

Dean laughed, his head falling back. He pulled you so close you felt like you were melded to his side. He caught your lips in his, his tongue dancing across them until you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss.

“I was gonna come up and see you,” he chuckled. “Break the rules.”

“Your rules,” you teased.

“My rules,” he agreed. He set his cup on the edge of the Camaro and wrapped both of his arms around you, his fingers sliding beneath the edge of your cotton t-shirt.

You put your arms around him and rose up on your toes, pushing yourself up and into his kiss. His fingers tangled in your hair, and his grip tightened on your waist, holding you to him. He pushed you backwards until you were leaning against the back fender of the Impala, trapped in the circle of his arms. Time crawled to a standstill, your entire world narrowing to just Dean.

Dean pulled away first, but only long enough to take your hand in his and pull you into the back of the Impala. A flood of memories rushed over you - so many memories. 

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you into his lap.

You straddled him, taking his head in your hands, kissing him. He groaned and pushed your shirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor, his eyes devouring you. You cringed a little, pulled away from him, a sudden bout of embarrassment and doubt rearing up inside of you. It had been five years since you’d been with Dean, five years and God knows how many women between you and him, five years in which you’d both changed, grown, matured. Five years in which you realized that you were destined to lose everything you loved, to destroy everything you loved. Maybe being with Dean was the wrong thing to do. Because it could only end badly. You suddenly felt overwhelmed by the force of your feelings, overwhelmed and unsure. 

You tried to move, to roll off of him, to climb out of the car and run, run from the feelings, run from the doubt, but Dean grabbed your wrists, holding you in place.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice stern. “Don’t.”

“Dean, let me go,” you muttered weakly.

“No,” he replied. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

You sagged in his arms, dejected. You took a deep breath. He needed to know, needed to understand that you were poison. You always had been.

* * *

**_Four Years Ago_ **

The wind and the rain were pelting the mansion, the sound nearly deafening on the bluff. You raised your voice, screaming at your father. You needed him to hear you, to understand you, to let you go.

“I love him, Daddy,” you yelled. “I never stopped loving him. I broke up with him because you made me, you forced my hand, gave me no choice. But I don’t care anymore, the money doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”

“So, what are you going to do, Y/N?” your father demanded. “Go to him, tell him the truth? It’s been a year, he won’t want you anymore. He’s moved on.”

“I have to try,” you said. “Maybe if he knows the truth -”

“You’re not going anywhere,” your father said, pulling the keys to your car from his pocket, shaking them. “Go to bed, Y/N, take some time to cool off.” He turned and stalked across the foyer toward his office.

You stared after your father. You could do what he said, again, or you could do what you should have done a year ago. Tell Dean the truth.

Decision made, you hurried through the house, down the back stairs to the garage. You hit the button to open the huge rolling door before heading to the desk in the corner. You dug through the drawers until you found what you were looking for. 

The keys to Daddy’s Camaro.

You saw your father in the Camaro’s rear view mirror, saw him as you pulled out into the deluge, saw the headlights from the SUV come on and pull out behind you. You hit the gas, flying down the mountain, the car hugging the curves, the engine growling. You could barely see anything, the rain was coming down so hard that it was like looking through a curtain at the road. You were halfway down the mountain, almost to the turnout five miles from the house, the lights from the SUV blindingly bright behind you. You hit the gas, urging the car to go faster.

It happened as you turned into the curve, the tires didn’t grab the road like you expected them to, the wheel spun through your hands, and you could only watch, helpless, as the car slid off the road, spinning once, the guardrail rushing at you. 

You slammed into the driver’s side door when the car hit it, your head hitting the glass, shattering it in a starburst pattern. You heard the scream of metal on metal as the car’s passenger side slide along the guardrail, saving you from going over the side and tumbling down the bluff into the ocean water below.

The second the car stopped, you pushed open the driver’s side door, falling to the muddy ground. You looked up at the sound of tires squealing, watching in horror as your father’s SUV slid across the asphalt, hit the dirt and flipped several times before rolling over the side of the bluff.

You screamed, scrambled to your feet, running after your father’s car,, watching helplessly.

The last thing you remembered was the orange and yellow flames licking at the sky as your father’s car burned.

* * *

**_Week Two, Day Four, Thirty-two Days Left_ **

She was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks, her nose running, the words coming out of her in choked sobs. When the words finally faded away, she collapsed on his chest, sobbing.

Dean held her, his hands running up and down her back, soothing her, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of her head. When she finally sat up and rubbed a hand over her face, she gave him a sheepish grin.

“Way to ruin the moment, huh?” she shrugged. “Sorry.”

He took her chin in his hand, tilting her head back so he could look into her eyes. “You didn’t ruin anything, sweetheart,” he whispered. “We’re good.” He kissed her, soft, gentle. “What do you say we get both cleaned up, have some dinner?”

Y/N nodded, snagged her shirt off the floor, and yanked it over her head. She kissed him again before climbing out of the car. He followed her. Before she could run off, he pulled her into his arms, his forehead pressed to hers.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

“My head knows it. My heart, not so much.” She squeezed his hand. “Meet me upstairs in an hour.” She disappeared out the garage door.

Dean opened the trunk and pulled out the clean clothes he’d thrown in there. He’d shower, order a couple of the parts that he needed, then head upstairs. Maybe he’d take Y/N to that new restaurant in town, or Harvelle’s, though Aunt Ellen would probably take a whip to him if he did. He would have loved to take her back to his place, make her dinner, but he had a feeling Sam wouldn’t take well to that. Not yet anyway. It was going to take time to bring his brother around, his aunt and cousin, too.

Thirty-two days wasn’t going to be enough.

* * *

The huge house was quiet, eerily quiet. The last time he’d been inside the mansion during the day, it had been bustling with people - staff everywhere, housekeepers, gardeners, Mr. Y/L/N’s assistants and office staff. Every door had been thrown open, the house filled with light. As he wandered through the halls now, he couldn’t help but notice the closed doors, the house cast in shadows despite the early evening sun still shining outside.

He finally found Y/N in the kitchen, sitting on the kitchen counter, a plate of fruit and cheese beside her, along with a glass of wine and a bottle of his favorite beer. She smiled at him as he entered the room, gesturing with her finger for him to come closer. He crossed the room, pushed open her legs and stepped between them. He rested his hands on her waist and leaned down to kiss her. 

“Hey,” he grinned.

“Hi,” she replied. She scrunched her nose up, something he vaguely remembered her doing when she was feeling bad about something and felt the need to apologize. She licked her lips nervously.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “I totally ruined the moment.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dean shook his head. “We’re good.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I feel like the clock is ticking -”

He cut her off with a kiss, her words turning to a quiet moan as he pulled her closer, his tongue dipping into her mouth, tangling with hers. She tasted like sweet wine and it was intoxicating.

She wrapped her arms around Dean’s neck, and pulled him to her, her lips roaming over his throat. His head fell back, a sigh leaving him, a knot of need twisting in his gut. She wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, urging him closer. He didn’t hesitate, pushing himself up against the counter until their bodies were flush against each other, his hand sliding along her leg, pulling it around his waist.

Y/N slid hand beneath the edge of his t-shirt, hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, and snapped open the button on his jeans. She slid down the zipper, her fingers grazing his hardening cock, drawing a low hiss from him. 

Dean’s hand slid up her side and cupped her breast, his thumb circling her erect nipple, her back arching, pushing herself into his hand. He slid his hand further up her leg, pushing the thin, white shirt she was wearing out of his way. He couldn’t hold back the moan that rumbled through his chest when his hand slipped between her legs. She was completely naked beneath the shirt. 

Y/N groaned, squirming closer, her hips coming up off the counter, her legs falling open. Dean’s fingers drifted over her, caressing her silken folds. Her head fell back, her fingers digging into his shoulders as Dean slid his middle finger into her, pumping it slowly, his palm pressed against her clit. He eased a second finger into her, crooking them just a little, brushing just the tips against the raised ridge of flesh, that spot that made her moan, that always made her want more. 

“Dean,” she gasped, her hands fisting in his t-shirt. “Jesus, I’m gonna come.” Her hips bucked, her pussy fluttering around his fingers, tiny gasps of pleasure coming from her.

He pressed his lips to her ear, murmuring quietly. Her scent filled his nose, her touch ignited him, the sounds of her pleasure made his cock ache with need. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, his fingers deep inside her, thrusting wildly, her body convulsing from the sensations running through her. She buried her face against his chest, coming so hard her entire body tensed, her head thrown back, his name a curse on her lips.

Dean eased his fingers out of her, his lips roaming over her throat. He was barely holding back his desperate urge to take her, to fuck her senseless, to make her his. It had been five years since he’d been with her, and he wanted her, wanted her more than his brain could comprehend, but that didn’t stop the doubt worming its way through him, making him wonder if he was doing the right thing, if they were doing the right thing. 

All of that faded away the second her hands slid past the waistband of his boxer briefs, pushing them down so she could stroke his cock. He growled, pulled her legs around his waist, and let her guide him to her entrance. She put her hands on his ass, urging him on, pulling him into her until he bottomed out. He held himself inside her, catching her lips in his, wanting, _needing,_  that connection, that moment of complete and total surrender he’d only ever felt with her. He moved, slowly tipping his hips up, drawing a groan from her as his stomach brushed against her clit. 

“Dean, please,” she begged, her nails digging into him. “Please.”

His control snapped, his hips pumping wildly, her cries egging him on, pushing him to pound into her, one hand gripping the counter, the other wrapped around her, crushing her to his chest. Y/N moved with him, screaming out her pleasure.

Dean thrust into her, one, two, three more times, his cock pulsing, throbbing as he came. He leaned against the counter, still wrapped in Y/N’s embrace, kissing her, holding her. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to be anywhere but right there, with her. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of her head, silently praying he could keep himself sane for the next thirty-two days. 

Because this woman made him crazy.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**_Week Two, Day Seven (Twenty-nine Days Left)_ **

Dean gently rubbed the cool, glistening drops of sweetness into her skin as they rolled down the upper slopes of her breasts. He ducked his head, following the trail with his lips. The taste of her flooded his mouth and heat drifted through him, settling deep in his gut, tight like a fist. His tongue danced across the swell of her breasts, licking at the droplets of ice cream that had fallen from the spoon when she'd leaned over to kiss him. He resisted the urge to bend her over the back of the chaise lounge beside the pool and fuck her senseless; too many of their encounters the last few days had been fast and quick, all about the sex, no time to savor the moment, no chance to enjoy being with her. He was forcing himself to slow down, take it easy, enjoy the time he had, instead of approaching every moment with that sense of time slipping away from them. 

He took her hand and led her around to the end of the chaise lounge, pulling her down to sit with him. She settled herself between his legs, her back against his chest, her body still cool from the water in the pool. His hands drifted up and down her sides, her head falling back to rest on his shoulder, her hands on his thick thighs, a sigh leaving her. He kissed her shoulder, pushing her hair out of his way as he explored every inch of skin he could reach. 

She stretched, her arms coming up, fingers curling around the back of his neck. He groaned, his eyes devouring the sight of her laid out before him. He let his fingers slip into the front of the bikini bottoms she was wearing, caressing her, circling her clit with the tip of his finger, his middle finger sliding through her folds, teasing at her entrance. Y/N hummed, her eyes squeezed closed, her hips coming up off the seat, chasing his fingers. He wrapped his lips around her pulse point, sucking gently, two fingers pressing into her, twisting them just right, drawing a gasp from the woman between his legs. Her fingers dug into the meat of his thighs, his cock throbbing as her hips rose and her lower back pressed it against his stomach. Dean shuddered, his entire body aching for her. 

He pulled her swimsuit top down, freeing her breast, two fingers tugging and twisting at the hardened nipple, the fingers of his other hand thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, Y/N squirming and moaning as he held her close, grinding against her. 

She came, sudden, sharp, crying his name, her entire body tensing as the pleasure washed over her. He slipped his fingers free, grabbed her around the waist, and tried to turn her, intent on lowering her onto his cock, wanting her to ride him, but she slipped out of his grasp, grabbed a towel from the back of the chair, tossed it on the ground and dropped to her knees beside him.  

“Y/N, baby, no, you don't have to,” he groaned as she leaned over him and dragged her lips along the length of his shaft. 

“I want to, Dean,” she replied. “I want to taste you so bad.” She licked her lips, her eyes eating him up.

Dean’s eyes closed, his hand falling in her hair a she pulled down his swim trunks, his cock springing free, pre-come dripping from the bright red tip. She moaned in the back of her throat as she wrapped her lips around him, her tongue swirling around the velvety head, alighting him with need. His cock jumped as the heat of her mouth engulfed him, her teeth lightly scraping along the length.

His hips rose, pushing himself deeper into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, groaning when it constricted around him. Y/N cupped his balls, caressing them, rolling them gently in her hand, her other hand wrapped his shaft, pumping it as she hollowed her cheeks and pulled him deeper into his mouth. He gripped the edge of the chaise lounge, tangled his fingers in her hair, and let himself go, let Y/N take control of his pleasure. 

And pleasure him she did. Every nerve ending was tingling, his cock was so hard it could have cut glass, so hard it was almost painful. When he finally let go, it felt like he’d been rocked by a neutron bomb explosion, his body nearly bent in half from the force of his orgasm. Y/N took every drop, milking him dry until he fell back onto the lounge, spent.

Y/N crawled onto the lounge with him and nestled herself in his arms. He brushed her hair off her face, caught her lips in his, tasting himself on her tongue, and kissed her, kissed her until they were both gasping for breath.

* * *

**_Week Three, Day Two (Twenty-seven Days Left)_ **

You let Dean guide you to the Impala, reluctantly sliding inside after he opened the door. You crossed your arms and leaned back against the seat, eyes closed. You did not want to do this.

The engine roared to life and the cobalt blue sky came into view as Dean pulled out of the garage. You pulled your thin sweater tighter around yourself, a sudden chill creeping over you, though you weren’t sure if it was because of the unusually cool, summer evening or the worry worming its way through you. Or maybe sheer terror was a better way to describe it.

It wasn’t that things weren’t going well with Dean; in fact, things were fantastic. The two of you had been talking, spending as much time as possible together, and the sex, well, that was always one thing you’d both been very good at. But tonight, Dean had insisted on going into town, going out, to of all places, his Aunt Ellen’s bar. You didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. You’d been a recluse since your father’s death four years ago, rarely venturing out of the house unless necessary. Now Dean was insisting you get out, see people. Except you were pretty sure those people hated you.

* * *

**_Three Years and Nine Months Ago_ **

If you were going to find Dean anywhere on a Saturday night, it would be Harvelle’s, his aunt’s bar. Garth pulled to a stop out front, asking you again if you were sure about this. When you insisted you were, he reminded you for the fourth or fifth time that he would be parked just around the corner if you needed him. You patted his arm, climbed out of the SUV, straightened your skirt and your shoulders, and pulled open the barroom door. 

It was loud inside, so loud that you considering turning around and running after Garth, forgetting that you had come here to find Dean, to talk to Dean, to tell Dean that you still loved him. You’d spent the last three months locked in that giant, silent mansion, mourning your father’s death, hiding from the world. But you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to do this.

You made your way through the crowd, trying to ignore the stares, the whisperings, the story of your father’s death still fresh in everyone's mind, still the best gossip this town had heard in months. You focused on finding Dean. You scanned every face, but you didn’t see him. You finally sat in a seat at the end of the bar, by the wall, the vantage point allowing you to see everyone in the bar, as well as everyone that came in and out.

You’d only been sitting there for a few minutes, scanning the bar, when a hand slapped the bar in front of you. “What are you doing here, Y/N?” the cold, hard voice asked.

Dean’s aunt, Ellen, was standing on the opposite side of the bar, her lips drawn together in a angry line. Dean’s cousin, Jo stood beside her, glaring at you, hands on her hips, foot tapping. You tried to smile, though you were sure it came off as more of a grimace. 

“Hey, Ellen, Jo,” you said, raising your voice in order to be heard over the music. “Have you seen Dean?”

Jo tipped her chin toward the back of the bar, a slight smirk on her face, then she turned and sauntered off. Ellen held your gaze for several seconds before letting out an irritated breath and walking away. You spun in your chair to look in the direction Jo had indicated.

Dean was standing near the dartboard, his back to you, surrounded by people. You weren’t sure how you’d missed him before. He stood out, his mere presence commanding attention. He was wearing a pair of tight faded jeans and a burgundy shirt, sleeves rolled up to just past his elbows. He had a beer bottle in one hand and three darts in the other. You could hear his laughter from where you were sitting. 

You wiped your sweaty hands on your skirt and pushed your hair out of your eyes. You could do this, you could walk over there and talk to him, apologize, shit, beg if you had to, beg for forgiveness if necessary, whatever it took to get him back. 

You’d just pushed yourself to your feet, shaking with nerves, determined to talk to him, when he took a couple of steps to the side, wrapped his arm around a woman sitting on one of the barstools, her back to you. He leaned down, cupped his chin in her hand, and kissed her, a smile on his face. You dropped back onto the stool where you’d been sitting.

“That’s his girlfriend,” Jo said from behind you.

You glanced at her over your shoulder. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Jo,” you snapped.

Her smile widened and she shrugged as she set a bottle of beer on the counter in front of you. “You didn’t think he was sitting around, pining over you, did you? He’s moved on, Y/N.” She wiped at a spot you couldn’t see on the counter, tossed the towel over her shoulder, and leaned over bar. “You should, too.” She grabbed a tray filled with drinks from the counter and disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t stop staring at Dean and the unknown woman. He’d pulled her from the chair while you were talking to Jo, and he was now standing behind her, one hand on her waist, the other on her arm, guiding her as she prepared to throw a dart. He was smiling, a familiar smile, the same one he used to give you. The sight made your heart ache. 

A wave of irrational anger washed over you. You couldn’t believe he’d found someone else, moved on, according to Jo. You’d thought he loved you, thought he’d wanted to be with you forever. You should have known better, should have realized it when he didn’t fight for you. If he’d really loved you, he wouldn’t have let you go. 

You rose to your feet, an urge to confront him coming over you. You were off the barstool and several steps across the room before you noticed Sam, standing a few feet from his brother, his hands clenched in fists at his side. The look in his eyes stopped you dead in your tracks. He shook his head, once, twice, his face so twisted in anger it frightened you.

You swallowed back the bile rising in your throat, spun around, and ran out the door.

* * *

**_Week Three, Day Four (Twenty-five Days Left)_ **

It had been his idea to spend some time outside of the mansion, to go to dinner in town. He knew that before he’d starting working on the Camaro, and even since, Y/N had rarely left the confines of her home. It was no secret in Kennebunkport that she had become a recluse since her father’s death, only coming down from her ivory tower on the bluff if and when she absolutely had to. 

She’d agreed to come with him, but he knew it was reluctantly. It was so different from the woman he’d dated and fallen in love with five years earlier. That girl had been a partier, a drinker, wanting nothing more than to go out and have a good time. A lot had changed since then. He felt like he needed to get to know her all over again. 

Dean glanced at Y/N out of the corner of his eye. She had her head tipped back, her eyes closed, her hands twisted together in her lap, squeezing them so tight together that her knuckles were white. He reached over and put one hand over hers. She grabbed on to him and held on tight. 

“You okay?” he asked.

She glanced over at him and he could see a sheen of tears in her eyes. “I’m not so sure about this, Dean,” she muttered. “Your family hates me, really, really hates me.”

“They don’t hate you -” Dean shook his head.

“They do and you know it,” Y/N interrupted him. “The last run-in I had with Ellen and Jo sucked. A lot. I thought they might tear off my head. And Sam’s face...” She visibly shuddered.

“When was this?” he asked.

“A few months after my father died,” she shrugged, staring straight ahead out the windshield. “I went to Ellen’s bar to talk to you, but you were there...with, um, uh...someone else. Jo was more than happy to tell me that you and her were an item and Sam nailed the point home with just a look.” She swiped one hand over her face and squeezed Dean’s hand with the other. “I left.”

“But that was almost four years ago. It’s been a long time. A lot has changed.”

Y/N nodded, but he wasn’t sure she believed him. He’d just have to let her see for herself. And he had no intention of letting his family get in any digs, not now, not when he and Y/N were trying to work through the muddled mess of their love life. 

“It’ll be okay. I promise,” he tried to reassure her.

* * *

The bar was quiet, only a few patrons scattered around the place. The smell of burgers hit you as soon as you stepped through the door, the best burgers in town. The bar was brightly lit, more so than usual, and the jukebox in the corner was playing quietly, a sharp contrast to the weekends, which were reserved for local bands. It was quiet, subdued. Typical Tuesday night fare.

Dean led you through the maze of tables to the middle of the bar, his hand on your back. He pulled out a chair for you and gestured for you to sit down. He dragged his chair closer to yours and kept your hand in his. You squeezed it tightly when Ellen pushed open the door beside the bar and came out.

She stopped at the end of the counter, her hand tightening on the dish towel in her hand. A look of irritation crossed her face and she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Dean was out of his seat and across the room, whispering furiously. His aunt raised her eyebrows and glanced around him a couple of times, daggers in her eyes. You felt yourself squirming uneasily and you forced yourself to stop. You couldn’t let her know she was getting to you.

You watched them spar back and forth for several minutes, becoming more and more convinced that coming to the bar was the single worst idea ever. You heard Ellen snap “Fine” and then she disappeared through the door she’d just come through.

“It’s all good,” Dean said as he returned to his seat. 

“Liar,” you mumbled. 

He laughed, cupped your cheek in his hand and kissed you. His thumb drifted along the edge of your jaw, his touch soft, gentle. When he pulled away, you could see something in his eyes, something you’d seen before, something you’d never thought you’d see again. It made you smile.

* * *

Dinner was good, the burgers and fries perfect, the beer cold. The service sucked, but Aunt Ellen was pissed. She dropped the food to the table without a word, along with the beers, not caring that they sloshed all over the table when she set them down, just turning and stomping away with that “I’m gonna chew your ass later” look on her face.

Dean sighed heavily. It wasn’t going to be pretty, especially once Jo was thrown into the mix. His cousin might be tiny, but she packed a wallop. He was going to have to be ready for anything she threw his way. Literally. Thank God she was in Boston looking at schools for a few days.

He glanced over his shoulder at his brother playing pool in the back. At least Sam was trying, sort of. He’d stopped by the table when he came in, said hello, even offered up a little smile to Y/N. The world’s weakest, fakest smile, but it was better than Aunt Ellen stomping around and muttering under her breath.

Y/N seemed to be holding up pretty well. She looked slightly less terrified than she had when they’d come in, even had a smile on her face. Dean was ready to call the evening mostly a success when Casey walked through the front door.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. This was not what he needed right now, his ex-girlfriend putting in an appearance. They’d dated for almost nine months, but he had broken it off because it hadn’t felt right. He hadn’t loved Casey, not like he’d loved Y/N. Casey had served as a distraction when he’d needed it, more than anything else. It was no secret she still carried a torch for him, despite his repeated attempts to make her see that he wasn’t interested and hadn’t been in a long time.

That hadn’t deterred her though. She came around almost constantly, somehow convinced that the two of them belonged together. It had begun to border on creepy and stalkerish, but Dean had chosen to ignore it. She’d only amped up her attempts at reconciliation the last few weeks. She’d called him a couple of dozen times since he’d gone to work for Y/N, but after answering the first few times, he’d started letting them go to voicemail. That didn’t stop her, she merely added texting and late night visits to his house to the list. Anything to convince him they should be together. It was starting to get out of hand.

“Dean?” Y/N asked. “What is it?”

“It’s Casey,” he mumbled. “We, uh, well, we dated after you and I broke up, around the same time that your dad died.”

He couldn’t say anything else, couldn’t explain anything, because Casey had noticed them. She smiled widely, but it was quickly replaced with a grimace when she saw Y/N seated beside him, his hand on the back of her chair, his body mere inches from her’s. Casey squared her shoulders and walked determinedly toward them.

He snuck a look at Y/N. Her face was blank, but he could see varied emotions colliding like storm clouds in her eyes. He swallowed nervously. 

Ignoring Y/N, Casey stopped beside Dean, leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. He tried to pull away, but he only succeeded in smacking Y/N in the nose with his head, which drew a giggle from Casey.

“You haven’t returned one of my calls, Dean,” she scolded. “How many messages does a girl have to leave to get a call back?” She grabbed a chair from another table, turned it around and sat beside him. “I’m starting to feel rejected.” She put a hand on his thigh, looking pointedly at Y/N as she did.

Dean gently picked up her hand, resisting the urge to squeeze it roughly, and set it in her lap. “I’m not going to return your calls, Casey. You know that.” 

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she shrugged. “You know I still care about you, right? I’m on a mission to convince you that you still want me.” She laughed, the sound echoing through the nearly empty bar. Her eyes finally drifted over Y/N. “Finally came down from your mountaintop mansion, huh? People were beginning to think you were dead.”

“Dean wanted to get dinner,” Y/N said evenly. “Usually we just stay in and fuck like bunnies. Thought it would be fun to try something new.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I need some air.” She disappeared out the door.

Dean had to bite his tongue to hold back the laughter. Casey looked like she’d been slapped. She turned to him, her mouth open to most likely spew something bitchy, but he cut her off.

“Let it go, Case,” he said. “You and me, we’re over. Have been for a long time. Find someone new to obsess over.” He pushed his chair back, dropped some money to the table and yelled goodbye to his brother and aunt before leaving. He was furious, could feel it thrumming through him like a livewire, but he was impressed with Y/N for holding her own with Casey. She could be a lot to take. Of course, Y/N knew that. She and Casey had once been best friends.

* * *

You stood beside the Impala, hands on the hood, dragging in deep breath after deep breath. It had been Casey you’d seen that night, Casey he’d been dating. It hurt, even after all this time. Seeing Dean with another woman all those years ago had nearly destroyed you, especially after everything you’d already gone through. It had taken a long time to move past it. But finding out that the man you’d never stopped loving had been dating your former best friend was a pain that was hard to get over. It was like a punch to the gut.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean asked. He stopped a couple of feet away from you, leaning against his car.

“Not really,” you shrugged. “It’s not easy, seeing you with...with her…” You heard the catch in your voice, could feel the tears threatening, and you hated it.

He was by your side in just one long stride, pulling you into his arms, nestling his nose in your hair. “I’m sorry. Me and Casey? That was just...stupid and childish. Trust me, I regret it. I thought, I don’t know, that maybe that was what I wanted, the crazy party girl that liked to have fun, because that’s what I had with you. But, Casey was just a poor substitute for you. I didn’t want a fun, party girl. I wanted you. I hope you can understand that it was a mistake.”

You nodded, swiping at the tears now freely rolling down your cheeks. Your head wasn’t in a good place right now. You needed some time to process everything.

“Can you just take me home, please?” you asked. “I want to go back to the mansion. This was a huge mistake.” You stepped out of the circle of his arms, yanked open the Impala door, and dropped onto the front seat. When Dean climbed in beside you, you turned away from him, curling in on yourself, staring out the passenger window as he drove you home.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**_Week Four, Day One (Twenty-one Days Left)_ **

You hadn’t spoken to Dean since he’d dropped you off on Thursday night. He’d walked you to the door, placed a chaste kiss to your cheek, mumbled see you Tuesday, and left. You’d stood in front of the door, watching him drive away.

He’d gone to Boston, with his brother, for the weekend, not due back until late Monday night, something about a parts run and Sam needing to look into housing for the new semester. He’d texted you late Friday afternoon, just a quick message to let you know they’d made it to town and they were staying with a friend of Sam’s, some girl named Sarah. You’d heard from him sporadically during the weekend, a few text messages here and there, and one quick phone call that had ended far too quickly.

The weekend seemed to drag on forever, too much time left alone with your thoughts. And your thoughts kept circling back around to Casey, especially to Dean and Casey together. Of all the women in Kennebunkport, why did he have to date Casey, the lifelong friend who had turned her back on you?

* * *

**_Five Years Ago_ **

You slammed the phone in the office back into its cradle, flipping it off for good measure. You just needed someone to talk to, someone who might understand what you were going through. You’d been miserable since the break up with Dean, miserable and alone. You’d been trying to call Casey for days; you knew if anyone could get your mind off of Dean, it was your best friend. Except she wasn’t answering your calls or texts, and she hadn’t been home in days according to her roommate; it was like she’d fallen off the face of the planet.

You grabbed your cell phone off the desk, checking it for good measure, then you stalked from the office, ignoring your father when you passed him in the hallway. You hadn’t spoken to him since the break up with Dean and honestly, you had no intention of speaking to him any time soon. You were still angry with him. Seeing him only reminded you of what you’d had to give up.

The phone in your hand vibrated, interrupting the ranting in your head. It was a text from Casey.

_ I’m out. _

You shook your head, not quite sure what she meant.

_ I’m sorry, what? _

Your hand was shaking as you stared at your phone, wondering what the hell your best friend was trying to tell you. Ten minutes later, you were still waiting. You texted her again.

_ Casey? _

But she never answered.  

* * *

**_Week Four, Day One (Twenty-one Days Left)_ **

You sat in front of the huge windows, watching the rain fall. It had been a dreary day and now a dreary evening. You missed Dean. Having him back in your life had awakened something in you, had brought you back to life. You needed him.

Your cell phone rang at that moment, Dean’s name on the screen. 

“Hi,” you murmured. “How’d you know?”

“Hey.” You could almost hear the smile through the phone. “Know what?”

“How’d you know that I wanted to talk to you, that I was missing you like crazy.” Your cheeks felt warm, a blush coloring them even as the words left your mouth. 

“I missed you, too,” Dean chuckled. “I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Your momentary excitement at the thought of seeing Dean was quickly dispelled when real life, a life that didn’t include Dean, reared it’s ugly head. “Damn it, I have a meeting with the board in the morning,” you sighed. “But, I’ll get back as quick as I can.”

“You know where to find me,” he murmured. “Look, sweetheart, I’m exhausted. I need to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You set your phone on the table beside you and pulled the soft, white crocheted blanket from the back of the couch around yourself. Tomorrow couldn’t get here soon enough.

* * *

**_Week Four, Day Two (Twenty Days Left)_ **

You silently urged Garth to drive faster, checking your watch every few seconds only to see the time getting away from you. The board meeting had gone on far longer than you’d thought, in fact, it had taken up most of the day. 

The board had some concerns. They felt that perhaps you were “too young, too immature,” to take on the responsibility of running a multi-million dollar company. That had been the party line since your father’s death four years ago. How could someone as young as you possibly know anything about running the company?

Forget the fact that you had grown up in this company, grown up knowing all of the ins and outs, every single thing about it, forget that your father had been grooming since birth to take over. None of that mattered when all the board members could see were the dollar signs they might lose if you were a failure.

Of course, Dick Roman, the chief financial officer and asshole in residence, had been kind enough to offer to buy out your shares, all of them, which would make him the owner of a company that had been in your family for generations. You couldn’t let that happen.

“You okay, Y/N?” Garth asked. His eyes met yours in the rearview mirror.

“Why can’t things ever be simple?” you sighed. You quickly filled him in on what had happened at the board meeting. 

Garth was sympathetic, you’d known in would be. He promised to help you figure out some good strategies and a solid business plan for moving forward. You’d never been more grateful to have him as a friend. Garth was smart, good with numbers, business savvy in a way you never had been. You were glad he was on your side.

“So, how’s things with Dean?” he asked, staring straight ahead, trying, and failing, to ask the question in the most nonchalant manner possible.

“Really, Garth?” You shook your head, laughing softly.

“You didn’t think I’d ask?” he grinned. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Less than three weeks until the car is done and this arrangement is over and I have no idea where we stand. None.”

“What do you want?” Garth inquired. “Where do you stand?”

“I want to be with him,” you mumbled, staring out the window at the trees rushing past. “I never stopped loving him. I screwed up and lost him because I was young and stupid and scared. I’ve regretted it ever since. But I’m not sure he feels the same way. He’s so damn hard to read, Garth.”

“He always was, Y/N,” Garth said. “He always was.”

* * *

Dean shuffled through the papers in his hand and jotted down a couple of notes on the yellow legal pad by his elbow. He glanced at the car on the other side of garage. The Camaro was actually starting to look like a car again. He was waiting on the new door panels he’d ordered in Boston; once those were installed, he would be able to paint, then the engine work, and then he would be done. Less than three weeks.

He dropped the papers and his pen to the desk and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes. Not only would he be done with the Camaro in three weeks, but he would have to make a decision about he and Y/N. Something he was still unsure about. 

He’d been hoping by this point in time, he would know one way or the other what he wanted to do, whether or not he was willing to put himself on the line and take another chance with her. But he still had no idea what he wanted, where he stood. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Sam had said, the warnings his brother had given him. 

The sound of an engine, followed by the slamming of a couple of doors, interrupted his thoughts. A few minutes later, the door opened and Y/N stepped inside.

“Hey,” he smiled. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”

“Sorry,” she shrugged. “The board was being - well, they were being difficult.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“I will be,” she said. “Especially now that I’m here, with you.” She leaned down and kissed him, a kiss that quickly intensified, that rapidly turned to more than just a simple kiss. 

Dean put his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. He buried his face against the side of her neck, inhaling deeply, his lips drifting along the line of her throat.

She sighed and tilted her head to the side to give him better access, her hands sliding beneath his lightweight sweater and up his stomach, his muscles jumping beneath her touch.

“I missed you,” she murmured, her lips pressed to his ear.

“Mm, I missed you, too,” he chuckled, his hands on her thighs, pushing up her skirt, sliding up to cup her ass. She moaned, a gorgeous sound that made his cock jump with need. A growl rumbled through his chest, his lips closing around the juncture where her neck and shoulder met, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin as he sucked greedily, marking her. He lost his mind when he was with her, his desire for her pushing everything else away. He wanted her, needed her like he’d never needed a woman before.

He slipped one hand between her legs, his fingers dancing over the rapidly dampening lips of her pussy, still clad in the silky underwear she was wearing. She moaned and pushed herself closer to him, her ass rubbing against his cock, drawing a groan from him. He circled her clit through the soft material until she was squirming and gasping, her fingers digging into the back of his neck, her head thrown back, a shudder working its way through her as she came undone.

Y/N pushed herself off of Dean’s lap, kicked off her heels, and slipped off her underwear. She fell to her knees in front of Dean and quickly unbuttoned his pants, tugging them down, kissing her way down his stomach and his legs, her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him roughly. 

He couldn’t hold back the groan he felt building in the pit of his stomach as Y/N’s lips danced over his skin. She managed to get his jeans and underwear down around his ankles, then she was straddling him, her skirt up around her waist, the lips of her pussy rubbing deliciously along the length of his cock for just a second before she took him in her hands, holding him as she lowered herself onto the hard shaft.

Dean wrapped his arms loosely around her waist, his hands resting on her ass. Y/N leaned back, balancing herself with her hands on his thighs as she rocked forward, encompassing him in her warmth, moaning as he filled her.

It was slow, easy, intense, the two of them moving in near perfect synchronicity, give and take, push and pull, short, tight thrusts from Dean, Y/N rocking forward, his fingers digging into her ass cheeks, urging her on, encouraging her. 

He couldn’t take his eyes of off her; she was gorgeous, insanely gorgeous, her eyes bright and shining with lust, her lips pink and wet, her chest heaving as she pulled in deep breath after deep breath. Her hands tangled in his short hair, her body trembling, perfectly delectable sounds of pleasure coming from her, all of it just adding to Dean’s own pleasure, increasing it exponentially.

Dean buried his face against her chest, gasping Y/N’s name as he came, his hands tight on her waist, pulling her down onto him as he thrust deep inside of her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, holding her as her own orgasm rocketed through her, her pussy clamping down around him, milking him dry, drawing out his pleasure.

She collapsed against his chest, her fingers twisted in his sweater, her head tucked under his chin. He pressed a kiss to her temple and hugged her close.

Less than three weeks to go.

* * *

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asked. His pants were still unbuttoned and his hair was mussed from your fingers running through it.

“Talk about what?” you countered. You knew what he meant, you just weren’t sure you wanted to talk about it. Hearing the details would make it too real.

“Me and Casey,” he sighed. “I know it’s still bugging you. So, let’s talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” You straightened your skirt, refusing to make eye contact with Dean. “You dated Casey. End of discussion.”

“Y/N,” Dean mumbled.

“I know,” you shook your head. “I’m sorry. It’s just - she - she was my best friend, Dean. And then one day, she wasn’t. I still don’t know what happened. But she knew I was in love with you, she knew how hard it was for me to break up with you, and she dated you anyway. But worse than that, you dated her.”

“It didn’t mean anything -” Dean interjected.

“Maybe to you it didn’t,” you said. “But I know Casey and I saw her at Harvelle’s, back then and last week and you know what? It meant something to her, Dean. It meant enough to her that she’s not going to let it go until she gets what she wants. You.”

Dean pulled you into his arms, his forehead resting against yours. “Well, that’s not happening, Y/N. I don’t want Casey.”

“What do you want, Dean?” you whispered.

He opened his mouth, then abruptly shut it again. His throat moved, but no words came out. You prayed he would say it, say that it was you he wanted, that this sham of an arrangement could end right here and now with a declaration from him that he still loved you like you loved him. You held your breath and waited.

“I want a beer,” he muttered, releasing you and stepping back. “A nice cold beer.” Abruptly, he turned and headed for the door leading into the mansion.

You followed him, your heart aching.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**_Almost Midnight, Week Four, Day Four (Eighteen Days left)_ **

You untangled your limbs from those of the man occupying the other side of your bed. Dean groaned, his hand clamping down around your wrist, holding you in place. You leaned over and brushed a kiss across his lips.

“I gotta pee,” you giggled. “I’ll be right back.”

He sighed heavily, but released you. “Don’t take too long,” he called after you.

You did as he asked, quickly washing your hands when you were done and heading back into the bedroom. Dean set his phone on the bedside table as soon as he saw you, then he gestured for you to return to the bed. You climbed in beside him, your head on his chest, his arm around you.

“The door panels for the Camaro are in,” he murmured. “I have to go to Boston to get them.”

Another trip to Boston. More time away from Dean. Time was slipping away from you.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?” he asked.

You turned to look at him, your chin resting on his chest, smiling. “Really? Boston?”

“Only if you want to,” Dean replied, brushing his fingers through your hair. “I thought it would be...I don’t know, good to get away.”

“I’d love that,” you replied.

“Great,” he grinned. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

* * *

**_Week Four, Day Five (Seventeen Days left)_ **

The drive into Boston turned out to be more fun than you’d anticipated. Dean was in high spirits, the windows of Sam’s truck rolled down, classic rock blaring from the stereo, his hand on your leg, tapping to the beat. You felt relaxed for the first time in weeks, your head against the seat, your eyes closed, happy. You pushed all thoughts of what was - or wasn’t - happening between you and Dean out of your head. You still had seventeen days. You were going to enjoy this weekend alone with him and worry about everything else later.

You were surprised when Dean pulled into the driveway of a small house on the edge of town and cut the engine. He turned to you and smiled, then he leaned over and kissed you. It never failed to make your toes curl.

“Where are we?” you asked.

“Aunt Ellen owns this place,” Dean explained. “She rents it out during the year, one of those places you can rent for a few days or weeks at a time. It’s empty this weekend, so she said we could use it.”

“That was awful nice of her, considering how she feels about me,” you whispered.

Dean shrugged and kissed you again, then he climbed out of the truck, holding out his hand for you to follow. You took his hand and jumped down, surveying your surroundings. The house was small, two stories, painted light blue, a patio wrapped around the front of the house with one of those porch swings, big huge trees shading the house, a quiet neighborhood.

“This is awesome,” you smiled. “Really awesome.”

Dean wrapped his arms around you, lacing his fingers together over your stomach, pulling you against his chest. His lips found your neck, drifting over it, sending tingles of desire dancing through your nerves.

“Wait until you see inside,” he murmured, his lips against your ear. “It’s pretty cool.” He took your hand and dragged you up the stairs, unlocked the door and pulled you inside after him.

Dean wasn’t lying, it was pretty cool inside. Comfortable furniture, tasteful knick-knacks, bright, open, and inviting. So different from the cold, museum quality of the mansion you’d spent your life in. You could get used to a place like this.

“It’s perfect.”

* * *

Y/N decided she was going stay behind while he picked up the Camaro’s doors. She wanted to walk to the store on the corner, pick up some food, make them some lunch. He’d agreed, reluctantly leaving her.

Dean knew she was on edge, knew she was constantly aware of their time ticking away. He felt the same way, felt as if it was all slipping away from him. They had just a little over two weeks left until he was done with the car and their arrangement was over.

Every argument that every person in his life had ever used to stop him from contacting Y/N, to stop him from rekindling their relationship, was playing on a constant loop in his head, day and night. Sam, Ellen, his friends, all of them, telling him he was crazy, that he didn’t need Y/N in his life, to let her go once and for all. It was all juxtapositioned against Y/N and the change he’d noticed in her since their break up five years ago. She wasn’t the same person. He didn’t know what to do and it was tearing him apart.

Back at his aunt’s, he took a few minutes to pull the doors from the truck and stash them in the garage before heading into the house. He found Y/N in the small upstairs bedroom, lying on the bed asleep. It looked like she hadn’t planned to fall asleep - her shoes were still on, her feet hanging off the side of the bed, her cell phone in her hand and jacket laying beside her.

Dean laughed to himself as he tossed her jacket to the floor and pried her cell phone from her hand. She began to stir when he grabbed her foot and yanked off first one shoe, then the other. He kicked off his own shoes, then climbed onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. He brushed his fingers through her hair, pushing it off of her face, and nuzzled her cheek with his nose.

“I thought you were gonna get food,” he murmured.

“I fell asleep,” she giggled, her arms sliding around him. She kissed the hollow of his throat, her tongue lingering there, and pushed her leg between his, her knee brushing against his half-erect cock, drawing a groan from him.

He tucked his hand beneath her shirt, his thumb drawing circles on her skin, his lips finding hers so he could kiss her, taste her, feel her. He drew her closer, the kiss deepening, though he didn’t push for more. Despite his need for her, he wanted to savor this, to store it away for later. It was a hunger he was familiar with, an insatiable hunger he’d always had for her that time had not diminished.

* * *

**_Five Years Ago_ **

She dropped into his lap, straddling him, the cold bottle of beer in her hand resting on his shoulder. She leaned over him, her breasts pressed to his chest, her lips tickling his ear.

“How much room is there in the backseat of that car of yours, Winchester?” she purred.

“More than enough,” Dean chuckled.

“Take me outside and show me,” she whispered, her hips rocking into his.

He bit back a moan, but he didn’t hesitate to push himself to his feet, lifting her up, holding her against him. He took Y/N’s hand and hurried out the bar door, dragging her after him. It took him all of ten seconds to open the back door and push her inside. Thirty seconds later her top was on the floor, her shorts unbuttoned, and the two of them were locked in an insane kiss that had Dean hard and aching in no time.

Everything between he and Y/N had been leading to this moment, every date during the last two weeks, every touch, every kiss, every knowing look had brought them here, to this moment. She was on fire, greedy, anxious to touch him, feel him, her hands and lips everywhere, kissing him, caressing him, stroking him. He wrapped himself around her, their bodies pressed together, time coming to a halt as they lost themselves in each other.

When they emerged from the backseat of his car two hours later, the connection between them was solidified, unbreakable.

Or so Dean thought.

* * *

**_Week Four, Day Five (Seventeen Days left)_ **

Y/N squirmed closer, her hands on the button of his jeans, opening them and sliding her fingers past the waistband, taking him in her hand. He groaned as she leaned over him, kissing him as she stroked him, his hips rising to thrust into her fist.

She released him, pushed herself off the bed, and grabbed his jeans, yanking them down his legs. Dean helped her, kicking them to the floor once they were past his thighs. Y/N crawled up the bed between his legs, her lips drifting up his thighs to his cock, now lying hard and throbbing against his lower stomach. She nuzzled him, licking a long stripe along his length.

“Y/N,” he growled, one hand fisting in the blankets, the other in her hair.

“Shh,” she murmured before wrapping her lips around the tip of his shaft, sucking gently.

“Fuck,” Dean gasped. He closed his eyes, let himself get lost in the feel of Y/N’s lips wrapped around him, her tongue sliding along his length, her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, two fingers pressed to the underside of his balls, circling, circling, until he felt them drawing up tight, the climax working its way to release. He came with muffled cry, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Y/N released him, pushing herself up Dean’s body until she was lying stretched out on top of him, his hands on her waist, the two of them kissing. They spent the rest of the day in bed.

* * *

**_Week Five, Day One (Fourteen Day Left)_ **

The weekend went by far too fast. Dean had dropped you at the mansion late Sunday night, staying just long enough to unload the Camaro doors and make plans for the work he was going to do the next day. He’d kissed you goodnight, refusing your invitation to stay, claiming he wanted to check how things were with the shop. You’d nodded your agreement, though you weren’t happy about it.

You were up Monday morning with the sun, waiting for the sound of the Impala pulling up the drive. You’d been awake most of the night, unable to sleep. You wanted to talk to Dean, tell him how you felt, lay everything on the line. You had two weeks left and you couldn’t waste anymore time.

You were on your third cup of coffee when you heard the familiar roar of the black classic car, You pushed yourself off of the couch and crossed the room to the window, peering out over the circular drive, anxious to see Dean.

He stopped in front of the large garage door, parking in his usual spot. He climbed from the car, gorgeous as always in his jeans and tight t-shirt. Just seeing him made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t wait to talk to him.

Then Sam opened the passenger door and unfolded himself from the car, smiling over the roof at his brother.

“Crap,” you muttered. “What the hell is he doing here?”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**_Week Five, Day One (Fourteen Days Left)_ **

“Just promise me you won’t be a dick,” Dean said, looking at his younger brother out of the corner of his eye.

“Y/N dumped your ass five years ago, out of the blue,” Sam grumbled. “Broke your heart. Shit, more like ripped it out and stomped on it. I think that gives me a right to be a dick.”

“She’s changed. She’s not the same person she was five years ago,” the elder Winchester sighed. “I’m not bringing you up here to give her a hard time. I brought you along to help me with the car.”

“Fine,” Sam muttered, staring out the window.

All Dean could do was hope that Sam would try to behave himself. It was high time his brother got used to the idea that Y/N was in his life to stay. At least, Dean hoped she was there to stay. It was time to talk to her about just that.

They drove the rest of the way to the mansion in silence. Dean pulled to a stop in front of the entrance to the garage and cut the engine. He and Sam unfolded themselves from the Impala, his brother smiling at him over the roof of the car. He caught movement just above Sam’s head. Y/N stood at the window overlooking the front of the house. He raised his hand to wave, but she had already stepped away. 

Dean wanted to go after her, burst through the front door, and finally, finally, tell her how he felt. But he hesitated, long enough to pull his attention away from her, long enough to remind himself that Sam was with him and he needed to get back to the task at hand - finishing the car. 

He marched through the door to the garage, tossed his keys to the desk, and grabbed a couple of overalls, tossing one to Sam. It only took a few minutes before they set to work prepping the car for the door installation and later, the paint. 

He kept expecting Y/N to walk into the garage, kept looking over his shoulder for her, waiting for her to appear. Every couple of seconds he’d throw a glance at the door, longing for her to come through it, longing to see her. He hungered for her, for the sound of her voice, the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin beneath his hands. 

“Dean,” Sam snapped.

“What?” Dean grumbled.

“Could you maybe pay attention to what the hell you’re doing before you fuck this up?” Sam said. “You know I’ve only got a few hours to help you. You screw it up, you’re on your own.”

Dean shot his brother a dirty look, but he forced himself to focus, to stop wondering where Y/N was, what she was doing. He had work to do.

* * *

You waited exactly one hour before making your way downstairs to the garage. As uncomfortable as you felt around Sam, you didn’t want to appear to be hiding from the younger Winchester. If Dean was going to be a part of your life like you hoped, then you were going to have to suck it up and spend some time around his little brother.

Inside the garage, Sam was helping Dean install the doors, holding them while his brother worked to secure them in place. You slipped in, unconsciously holding your breath as you waited for one of them to notice you. 

Sam spotted you first, his brow furrowing slightly. He cleared his throat, nodding toward you when Dean looked at him.

“Y/N,” Dean smiled. He pushed himself to his feet and hurried across the garage. He put an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I was wondering when you might come down.”

“Sorry, I...uh, had to make a call for work,” you shrugged. You wrapped your arms around Dean, rested your head against his chest. You hated lying to him, but you didn’t want to tell him that you were afraid of his brother. Not exactly the best way to get a foothold in a relationship.

Sam cleared his throat again, forcing you to take a step backwards. A flash of irritation crossed Dean’s face and you immediately regretted that choice.

“So, um, how’s the car coming along?” you asked.

“Good,” Dean mumbled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Sam’s gonna help me get her ready to paint, which I’m doing tonight, then tomorrow one of the other mechanics from my shop is gonna come up and help me drop the engine in. She’s almost done.”

“Ahead of schedule?” you asked, even though you didn’t want to hear the answer. While you’d hired him to rebuild your father’s car, the sooner it was done, the sooner he’d be gone. Maybe forever.

“Sounds like it, right Dean?” Sam interjected. “Then he can get back to working at his shop. Get back to his life.” The unspoken meaning behind his words was clear.

You didn’t miss the look Dean shot in his brother’s direction, or the way his hands clenched into fists at his side. You pushed a hand through your hair and cleared your throat.

“I’m...uh, just gonna go back upstairs,” you squeaked. “I’ve got, um, some work stuff to take care of. Garth’s going to help me. I’ll see you later, Dean.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then turned and jogged out of the garage. You could feel Sam’s eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If looks could kill, Sam’s would have been lethal.

* * *

**_Week Five, Day Two (Thirteen Days Left)_ **

**_One a.m._ **

Dean put both palms flat against the tile wall and let the warm water run over his shoulders. He was exhausted and sore, his muscles aching with the strain he’d put on them.

Nothing had gone as planned after Y/N had run from the garage. He’d been tense and irritated with Sam, unable to even look at the younger Winchester without wanting to rip his head off. They’d moved around the cavernous garage, working in silence, until Bobby had shown up to give Sam a ride back to town. Dean had spent the rest of the day taping off the car, building the makeshift paint room around it, and painting. He’d finished less than twenty minutes ago, determined to get it done. The new mechanic he’d hired last week would be there first thing in the morning, and he wanted to get the engine dropped in right away.

Y/N hadn’t come back to the garage, not after Sam had run her off, and he’d been too caught up in the car to take a minute to seek her out. He kept telling himself he was going to finish just one more thing, then he’d make time to find her, but that one thing kept turning into two, then three, and before he knew it, it was one in the morning and he was covered in paint and exhausted.

He’d just rinsed off the last of the soap and was seriously contemplating crashing in Baby’s backseat for the night - better than driving down the mountainside half asleep - when the bathroom door opened and Y/N stepped inside. He watched her as she slipped off the robe and barely-there silk nightgown she was wearing, letting them fall to her feet before pushing the door shut and crossing the room. She didn’t say a word, just stepped into the shower and right up against him.

Dean pulled her close, dropped his head, and caught her lips in his. She tasted sweet, like peaches and cream. He leaned against the wall, pulling her with him, the water cascading over both of them. Y/N moaned into his mouth, her breasts crushed against his chest, her hands slipping between their bodies, stroking him. He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe, until he was heady with desire, punch drunk from the taste of her, his body aching for her. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her, her legs slipping around his waist, his cock sliding into her, her warmth surrounding him. He turned and pressed her against the wall, holding her in place as he thrust into her, his lips pressed to her neck, the sounds of her pleasure echoing in his ears.

Her heels dug into his ass, her nails scratched at his back, her pussy clenching around him as she came, his name a curse on her lips. Dean growled and pounded into her, one arm braced against the wall by her head, his eyes squeezed closed, grunting as his own orgasm ripped through him.  

He set Y/N on her feet, reached over and shut off the water, pushed open the glass door and stepped out. He grabbed two towels, wrapped one around his waist, and the other around Y/N. He pulled her back into his arms, his mouth back on hers, always hungry for her.

Y/N broke off the kiss, gasping for breath, her lips swollen and red. She cupped Dean’s face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks, her eyes locked on his.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for what I did to you five years ago. I’m sorry I was afraid to stand up to my father, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everyday how much I loved you, how much I needed you. But I’m not doing that again, I’m not throwing away the chance to be with you, again. I’m not.” She closed her eyes, tears running down her face. “Every minute of the last five years without you has been miserable. When my father died, I was so lost, and I...I blamed you. My selfish need to be with you, the man I love, got my father killed.”

“What are you talking about?” he murmured.

“We fought, I took off, in the Camaro, down the mountain. It was raining, we -”

“You don’t have to say it,” Dean cut her off. He knew what had happened, all of it, everyone in town knew how her father had died. It was no secret. “I know what happened.”

“But what you don’t know, Dean, is that we were fighting about you,” Y/N said. “I was racing down the side of the mountain to get to you. That’s why my father is dead, because I was selfish, because how I felt about you overshadowed everything else. And God help me, that never changed. Even after he died, you were the only thing on my mind, the only thing I wanted. And I hated myself for it, even hated you, though I never stopped loving you, too. Jesus, I’m a mess.” Y/N laughed and swiped a hand over her face, brushing away the tears.

“Y/N, I -” his mouth snapped shut. Dean hugged her to his chest, his lips on her temple, his hands rubbing circles on her back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. God, I’m so sorry.” He didn’t even know how she could stand to look at him, how she could want to be around him, not when she’d been living with the knowledge for five years that he was partially responsible for the death of her father.

“How is it that you don’t hate me? After that?” he murmured. “I might as well have killed him myself.”

Y/N shook her head, her wet hair flying around her face. “I don’t blame you, Dean. And it’s time for me to stop blaming myself. My father’s death was caused by his screwed up need to control my life. He refused to let me love who I wanted to love, tried to control every move I made, right down to who I dated. Shit, he practically arranged a marriage for me after we broke up. We never would have fought if he’d just let me live my life.” She buried her face against his chest and sighed heavily. “I can’t let him continue to control me, even now. I love you, Dean. I hope you can believe that. I don’t want this to end and I hope you don’t either. Say the word and I’m yours forever.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. She still loved him and after the last couple of weeks, after what she’d just told him, he had no reason to doubt her. Maybe this could work. God knew, he wanted it to. He’d fight for it if he had to.

“I don’t want it to end, either.”

* * *

**_Four Years Ago (Thirty Minutes Before the Accident)_ **

“Daddy, I’ve only been dating him for four months,” you sighed.

“Four months is a long time,” your father said. “You only dated that mechanic from town for a couple of months and you thought you loved him. Benjamin is a nice young man, from a good Louisiana family, with family money, more than enough for you to live in the way in which you’ve become accustomed. It’s a good match, Y/N, a very good match.”

“I don’t love him -”

“Love doesn’t always matter, honey,” he interrupted. “Marriage is about building something together -”

“And the foundation it should be built on is love,” you snapped.

“That’s how a child thinks, Y/N,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a child anymore. It’s time for you to grow up. A marriage to Benjamin LaFitte is the perfect way to start.”

“I don’t love him!” you yelled, rising to your feet. “I am not going to marry Benny, despite what you think, despite what he thinks. I may have broken up with Dean, I may have spent the last year living under your thumb, doing what you said, dating who you said, a prisoner because of your need to control my life. But I’m done, I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to talk to Dean.”

Your father rose to his feet, towering over you. “You will not leave this house, Y/N. What are you going to tell him, anyway? What kind of excuse could you make?”

“No excuses, Daddy,” you shook your head. “The truth.”

Your father laughed, the sound echoing off of his office walls. “That piece of dirt won’t take you back. I can guarantee you he will never take you back. I doubt he ever loved you. You were nothing but a piece of ass to him.”

The wind and the rain were pelting the mansion, the sound nearly deafening on the bluff. You raised your voice, screaming at your father. You needed him to hear you, to understand you, to let you go. His words had stung, if for no other reason than you were afraid they might be true. But you couldn’t stay here and not try to make things right.

“I love him, Daddy,” you yelled. “I never stopped loving him. I broke up with him because you made me, you forced my hand, gave me no choice. But I don’t care anymore, the money doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”

“So, what are you going to do, Y/N?” your father demanded. “Go to him, tell him the truth? It’s been a year, he won’t want you anymore. He’s moved on.”

“I have to try,” you said. “Maybe if he knows the truth -”

“You’re not going anywhere,” your father said, pulling the keys to your car from his pocket, shaking them. “Go to bed, Y/N, take some time to cool off.” He turned and stalked across the foyer toward his office.

You stared after your father. You could do what he said, again, or you could do what you should have done a year ago. Tell Dean the truth.

* * *

**_Week Five, Day Two (Thirteen Days Left)_ **

**_Nine a.m._ **

Needless to say, Dean hadn’t slept in the Impala. In fact, he hadn’t slept much at all. He and Y/N had barely made it up the stairs before the towels were falling to the floor and their hands were all over each other. They’d managed to make it to the living room overlooking the front drive, but no further. He’d woke up this morning in a pile of pillows between the couch and the coffee table, Y/N sprawled across his chest, sound asleep. He’d laid there, taking shallow breaths, trying not to move, wanting to savor these few quiet moments. He felt oddly content, something he hadn’t felt for five years, as well as relieved that everything was out in the open. It was time to consider building a serious relationship with Y/N. Something he was definitely ready to do.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She stirred, stretching, her arms coming up around his neck. She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Dean growled low in the back of his throat and ran his hands up her sides.

They were interrupted by the slam of the front door. Garth appeared in entrance to the living room, coming up short as soon as he saw them. He blushed and stammered as he backed out of the room, apologizing for intruding. Y/N rolled off of Dean, yanked a blanket over her head, giggling uncontrollably.

“Poor Garth,” she laughed.

Dean kissed her bare shoulder. “He didn’t see anything,” he chuckled. “But I do need to get up and get some clothes on. The mechanic from my shop should be here soon.” He pushed himself to his feet, groaning.

“I’ll bring you some coffee,” Y/N smiled up at him.

“Mm, sounds good,” Dean murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to her lips.

He was a little worried he’d run into Garth on his way downstairs, embarrassing both of them further, considering Dean was in nothing but a towel. Luckily, he made it to the garage without incident, grabbed some clean clothes from the trunk of the Impala, and quickly dressed. He opened the huge rolling door, the sun streaming in, the fresh sea air blowing through.

Ten minutes later, the newest mechanic from Winchester Automotive drove up the long drive. He parked his truck in front of the garage door and jumped to the ground. The door to the mansion opened behind them a few minutes later as Dean was showing off the work he’d done on the Camaro.

“Y/N, I want you to meet someone.” Dean turned to see Y/N standing a few feet away, her face pale and shocked. He took a step toward her.

“Benny?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”


End file.
